


Go All Out

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, M/M, Sexual Content, timeskip fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22898716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: “What would you say drives you?” asked the interviewer.He replied with a smile, directing it at her and to the camera. “Love of the game.”Looking back, he’d grossly over-simplified.Looking back, he’d lied.A few years later and after a humiliating defeat, Miya Atsumu hates the game with every fibre of his being.At least for now.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 10
Kudos: 273





	Go All Out

**Author's Note:**

> Ta-da. Another timeskip fic. This follows the same canon as A Splash of Colour, taking place a month or so after.

“What would you say drives you?” asked the interviewer.

It was his last tournament with Inarizaki, and he’d wanted to impress how amenable he could be. Wearing his Captain’s shirt with untold pride and assurance, he replied with a smile, directing it at her and to the camera. “Love of the game.”

Looking back, he’d grossly over-simplified.

Looking back, he’d lied.

***

Right now, Miya Atsumu hated the game. He hated every last play, every last player, every move, every team, every toss he’d ever sent to a spiker, every block, every receive, every dump shot, every serve…

Every. Damn. Serve.

Everything he’d ever done, watched and practised for, he hated with every fibre of his being. So he did what he always did when the dark shrouds threatened to envelop: he left. His sinews screamed at him. His muscles ached. His tendons screeched. But he felt none of it. At least nothing hurt like the pain tearing into his core.

_Useless._

_Fucking useless!_

Taking to the road was supposed to make things better. It worked to have something to take him out of himself, much better than sticking on a dumb show. Or talking it out. The activity would distract his thoughts long enough for him to formulate a plan.

But not today. That evening he’d pulled on his trainers intending to pound out his loathing and pain on the pavements, but instead it had double backed on him, until what was left wasn’t his refreshed body, but a husk of hatred.

_Why do you bother, you fucking scrub?_

It started to rain but he didn’t deviate.

Even if it were expected, he couldn’t bring himself to meet, eat, and pick over the carcass of the game. Not that they’d want him there anyway. This way was the preferred option for everyone. He knew that.

And Shouyou knew that. Although he’d tried to persuade him otherwise, it had been half-hearted, a feint because no doubt he was sick of Atsumu’s moods too.

The shower became a squall, the rain drops pointed needles as hard as hail lashing into the right hand side of his face. Yet he continued to run, because while his legs cooperated he could ignore the screaming of his lungs. But the pavement slabs disagreed and the leaves littering his path caused his arms to helicopter in front of him as they prevented a foot falling stumble.

‘Breathe,’ ordered a voice in his head, reminding him of his old captain, as did the firm phantom hand on his shoulder keeping him upright.

‘Breathe.’

He inhaled, and for the first time took in his surroundings, not the greyness ahead of him. But the buildings in the street, the red awning of a noodle shop, a tortoiseshell cat sheltering under one of the tables, and a multi-coloured umbrella being twirled by a couple who laughed as they ran for the bus stop.

And then he knew where he was. Maybe it had been deliberate, or maybe he’d genuinely not realised the route he was taking, but as he debated whether to turn back for home, a voice (a real one this time) cut through the rain.

“Atsumu!”

Raising his hand in acknowledgement he tried to flap him away, but Shouyou had already stepped into the street, and was beckoning to him.

“Hey, get inside before you drown,” Shouyou chuntered. “Let me find you a towel.”

“Naw, it’s fine, I’m not stay—” he started to say, but just then he was enveloped in something fluffy and warm, and Shouyou was smiling at him.

“Fresh from the dryer,” he said beaming. “Dry off and I’ll make you tea or something.” Then he looked at him properly, taking in the puddles forming under his feet as the water dripped off his clothes. “You’re drenched.”

“Uh, huh, there’s this stuff comes outta clouds,” he joked feebly. “Never knew it was so … uh … _wet_.” Shivering, he began to rub the towel across his hair, then his shoulders to blot up the excess.

“I’m making you a drink, and you should take a shower. Try and warm up a bit.”

“Don’t … I should go.” He swallowed and tried a smile. “Don’t look at me like that, Shou-kun, I can’t get much wetter.”

“You came to see me though,” he said and tilted his head enquiringly. “Um… didn’t you?”

“Uh… not really. I wanted to run and sort of ended up here.”

“Ah…” He turned back to the kettle.

“Not that I ain’t desperate to see ya,” he tried, and shuffled his soaked socked foot across the floor. “Sorry.”

He flicked the kettle switch. “For coming here by accident?”

“No… for earlier.” Staring at Shouyou’s back, he willed him to look around, but Shouyou was opening his cupboard, finding two mugs, tea and coffee, a bag of sugar and… “Sorry,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have … you know.”

A slight shrug. “You’ve got your way of dealing with it. I get that. Just …” He turned then. “Tea?”

“Mmm, please. Just, what?”

“You didn’t yell,” he replied, adding before Atsumu could process,”If you want a shower to warm up, I’ll find you a change of clothes.”

And that sounded like a command.

Aware that outside the wind had picked up, and here he was squelching in Shouyou’s kitchen, Atsumu nodded. “You sound like my mom, ‘cept she’d have shouted at me for drippin’ on the floor.”

Shouyou assumed a one hand on hip, finger wagging pose. “Get to that shower, young man, before you catch your death!” Then with a grin he added. “I’ll leave some clothes on my bed. Don’t worry, it’s not all chibi-sized,” he said and rolled his eyes.

With nothing else to do, no reasonable excuse he could make for standing around dripping, Atsumu headed to the bathroom. Soon he was subsumed under more water needles, this time hot pinpoints that rattled on his skin, pricking into each aching muscle. Steam clouded around him, he took in some lungfuls, letting the warmth soothe him inside and out. As the mist swirled, his mind cleared.

_Yeah, I fucked up._

And he probably would again.

Hearing voices from the kitchen, he left the bathroom, one towel around his hips and using another to rub at his hair again and crept across the hallway and into Shouyou’s bedroom. It was a small room, dominated by a western style bed rather than the more usual futon. A cluttered desk by the window, a wardrobe with open doors, and a wall full of posters and prints gave the room a warm, very ‘Shouyou’ feel, and he relaxed on entering. There was a pile of clothes on the bed, a bright yellow and green shirt, and a baggy pair of sweats. He squinted at them, but the waist was fine, even if they were short on the leg, and so he wriggled into them.

“You decent?” Shouyou called out, tapping on the door.

“More decent than you’ve seen me in the changing room, Shouyou,” he replied.

“Tea.” Shouyou walked in, blinked and then immediately turned away, putting both drinks down on his small desk, slopping the drink onto his hand. “Ow.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah … haaa … clumsy as always.” He sucked his hand, still not turning around. “Nah, it’s all good. Um… is the shirt okay?”

“Uh…” Finishing drying his chest, Atsumu pulled the shirt over his head, tugging it over his still damp skin, realising as he felt it that it was a sports top of some kind, and one with a number one on the back. “It’s fine. Not tight. What team’s this?”

“Oh… uh … it’s from Brazil. Sometimes we swapped shirts after a game.”

“So the guy that got yours…” Atsumu smirked, pulling at the loose folds of the clothes, “musta given it to his kid, right?”

“Ha ha ha,” Shouyou yawned. “Yeah, his extremely burly and broad-chested nineteen year old son, who he teamed up with.”

“Did ya beat them?” Atsumu asked, steering around the subject because sometimes, just sometimes, Shouyou got tetchy about his height.

“Ooooo, yeaaaah!” he laughed.

“Hey, so this means I’m wearing an old man’s shirt?”

“An old man _loser’s_ shirt,” Shouyou replied then blinked rapidly. He handed over the drink. “This is hot, by the way.”

“Think I’ve been scalded enough,” Atsumu muttered as he sipped, and then he gave a smile, the last vestige of bad temper leaving him.

“Ahhh, that’s better,” Shouyou said.

“Huh?”

“You smiling,” he replied, and sat at his desk. “Are you feeling better after the shower?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He slung a glance at Shouyou, watching as he picked up a pencil, fiddling with it between his fingers to tap it on the table in an odd discordant rhythm. “Hey…”

“Hmm?” He continued to tap.

“I’ve been here twenty minutes and not had a snog yet.”

“Oh.”

_Oh?_

“Is there … um …” He stopped talking, trying to think, but surely if Shouyou were about to break up with him, he wouldn’t have insisted on the dry clothes and made him tea … although, Shouyou was a nice guy and maybe this was his way of lettin’ him down gently … and it’s not like he deserved any consideration cuz he’d been a brat and…

“MMM!”

Shouyou’s lips touched his, his hands pressed into Atsumu’s shoulders and whatever fears had flooded Atsumu’s head, had now dried up under the heat of Shouyou’s body close to his.

“That better?”

“Much.”

“You don’t usually ask,” Shouyou said, moving closer and nipping his ear.

“Guess I felt too wet and sweaty and … you know.” Grumpy and ugly and out of sorts and obnoxious and…

“Like I’d be put off by sweat.”

“You seemed kinda … off when you came in the room, that’s all. I wondered.”

Shouyou’s hand ruffled Atsumu’s still damp hair, and trailed a finger down his cheek. “It was seeing you shirtless, ‘cause I know I see you in the changing rooms most days, but sometimes I forget just how hot my boyfriend is.” He swallowed. “Sometimes I can’t believe he’s actually my boyfriend and we have … uh … this.”

“Even though everyone thinks I’m an anti-social jerk.”

“Ahhh, no one thinks that.”

“Yeah right.”

Shouyou winked at him. “Omi-san might, but then he thinks we’re all jerks and—“

“Did he join you all?”

Shouyou shrugged. “For a bit. Didn’t eat. Said the place was too crowded and he didn’t trust the kitchen.”

“What did you talk about?” Atsumu asked, and shifted back on the bed, stretching out his legs. And Shouyou joined him, shuffling up so his back was against the headboard.

“Not much. We ate. Coach-san gave us a pep talk about not forgetting the loss but making sure we learnt from it.” He touched Atsumu’s hand. “No one is blaming you.”

“Like I care.” But it came out as a husk. “It’s my fault though.”

“Team sport, ‘Tsumu.” Shouyou murmured, his thumb caressing Atsumu’s wrist.

“Yeah, but it was my serve that lost us the game.”

“But what got us to that point of needing your serve to stop us losing?”

He’d picked his words carefully, not saying ‘to win us the game’ because by that last point, they’d needed several to even get to deuce.

Shouyou took a breath. “My cross shot was wide. Bokuto-san missed a straight. Omi-san flubbed a block out, Meian-san…” He grimaced. “I could go on.”

“Meian-san’s okay, though.”

“Yeah, he just twisted his knee. The point is we all sucked at some point yesterday.”

“I just …” He groaned and hid his face in his hands. “That serve was so soft; their Libero scooped it up like it was ice cream. Gahd, I could practically hear the Demon Cheer Squad lambastin’ me.”

“You thought it was the right thing to do at the time.”

“It was a fucking crappity serve, though. Go all out, that’s what we used to say. It’s what I always believed but for some reason today, I forgot that.” He frowned, really thinking about that last serve and his thought processes before he started his run up. The debate had raged internally: a jump float or a spike serve, and yeah, there’d been some noise, but could he really blame the crowd? It was something _he_ had to tune out, because with his preferences known, the opposition supporters would do anything to haze him. In the end he’d morphed his most powerful weapon into something that barely floated, barely got over the net, and the Libero had flicked to the Setter who’d performed the most insolent, ridiculous, and humiliating dump shot to really rub it in.

He’d wanted to run then, and now he thought back, he couldn’t remember if he’d done just that. Had he stayed on court, or had he legged it to the changing rooms?

“Um… I did shake hands with ‘em, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. You were a bit numb, but you even congratulated that Setter.”

“Bastard! God that was humiliating.”

Pressing his lips to Atsumu’s jaw line, Shouyou scattered soft kisses across his face until he settled on his mouth. And when they broke away he had a tiny smile on his face.

“You’d like to do that, right? A dump shot to win the game.”

He smirked. “Yeah.” And then he took a deeper breath, exhaling with a long drawn out sigh and slid a little further down the bed. He held Shouyou closer, his hand resting on his waist. “Sorry I was an asshole after.”

“You … um … weren’t.”

“Yeah, I was. I shrugged you off and stormed out. I shoulda stayed. I shoulda talked to you and said … I dunno … I shoulda been there. Maybe even gone to the meal after but I didn’t.”

“You never do, though,” Shouyou murmured. “You don’t like going over it, even when we win, so why is this bothering you now?” He paused and then his eyes widened. “Because of me? Us?”

He nodded, feeling stupid. “Shouldn’t I be more supportive?”

“Atsumu, this is your way of dealing with losing. It’s also your way of dealing with us winning. The official debrief is fine, but us picking it over… It’s like you need to get off court and away from the match so you can move on. And that’s fine. No one minds.”

Something clicked in his brain: a black banner flitting in the background as they played. “We don’t need memories,” Atsumu muttered, and sniffed. “But it’s different now. Cuz, I ain’t only got volleyball in my life, have I? It’s not just about the team or the next game. Life’s got … uh …”

“Complicated?” Shouyou suggested.

“Better,” Atsumu replied. Turning on his side, he kissed Shouyou on the nose then ran his fingers through his curls. “But, yeah, a bit complicated, I guess.”

From the bedroom next door a heavy bass thumped through the walls. “Your housemate’s back, then,” Atsumu grumbled. “How do you put up with it?”

“Ah, I’ve got used to it. I put headphones on sometimes.”

He frowned and sat up. “Like, how do you concentrate with all that _noise?_ It would put me off!”

There was a tug on his shirt. “Put you off what?” Shouyou asked, his lips twitching. “Are you about to serve?”

“Ha ha.” He stared out the window. “It’s easing up, should I go?”

“Do you want to?”

“Right now, I’d like to lie back on this bed with you and sleep for a thousand years, but someone,” he snarled, “is makin’ too much noise!”

A hand slid under his shirt, resting on the small of his back, and Shouyou rested his chin on Atsumu’s shoulder. “Sleep, really?”

“Hinata Shouyou, what are you suggestin’?” He added a laugh, but inside he could feel his heart start to thump erratically, especially as Shouyou was even closer, his breath hot on Atsumu’s neck.

“Just … uh …” He swallowed, and now Shouyou was shaking. “See what happens. If you want. I mean.”

Yet as much as he wanted this next step to happen, seeing Shouyou’s lip tremble, Atsumu was suddenly filled with concern. He shuffled around, putting his arms across Shouyou’s shoulders and stared into his wide eyes. “Seein’ what happens sounds like a plan,” he murmured. “I’d like that.”

_Ohh-kay. Breathe, ‘Tsumu, you got this_. He slid his hands down to Shouyou’s waist and lay them both back down on the bed. His face was flushing furiously; scared he’d make an error, slip up in some way, or rot the whole thing up. But right by his side, Shouyou didn’t seem nervous anymore, his mouth pouting into Atsumu’s neck.

“Shirts off?” he suggested softly.

“Mmmhmm.” He gulped, but as Shouyou began to undress, he caught sight of his taut stomach, and his hands instinctively moved to help. His throat constricted especially when Shouyou pulled at his own shirt, helping to ease it over Atsumu’s head.

“Is this okay?” Atsumu asked, planting a kiss on Shouyou’s stomach. “Have you … uh … done this … uh …”

“I’m fine,” Shouyou murmured, and his hands fisted into Atsumu’s hair, his back arching under him.

He was getting hard in Atsumu’s hand, so he slid his fingers inside Shouyou’s pants, and slowly worked him. “You like this?”

“Yeah…”

“Good.” His mouth mazed upwards towards Shouyou’s chest, his neck, his ears and his mouth as he continued to caress and tug, feeling himself get harder as Shouyou quivered. He broke away, wanting to drink in Shouyou’s expression, the heightened desire flushing his face, and the eyes sparkling even as he lost focus and gave himself up to the intense rhythm Atsumu was driving him towards.

“Hey, hold up,” Atsumu started to soothe. “I wanna…” He started to kiss Shouyou’s neck again, nuzzling his collarbone, hoping the intention behind his downwards descent was clear. But Shouyou either didn’t hear or didn’t want because he jerked suddenly in Atsumu’s hand, letting out a keening gasp and then a flurry of ‘oh my gods mingled with sorrys’

“What are you apologisin’ for?”

“Too quick. I wanted to hold on, but…” Muffling his head in his shoulder, Atsumu could feel the heat from Shouyou’s cheeks. “It’s been a while.” Then, with a small peck on Atsumu’s chest, he lifted his head up and looked him straight in the eye, smiling. “Not so long that I’ve forgotten everything though, ‘specially not about … uh … returning favours.”

“Oh, boy, I like the sound o’ that.”

And he liked it even more when Shouyou pulled at his pants, sliding them down his legs. Manoeuvring so Atsumu was sitting in the edge of the bed, Shouyou knelt in front of him, his hands splaying Atsumu’s thighs.

He’d had a relationship before, an almost out of school thing which barely lasted a term, so driven was he by playing, practise, and winning. Then there’d been some fumbles with a fan or two, with neither wanting to pursue anything deeper. He’d not seen the point, too intent on the goal ahead. His drug, his passion, his life and love was volleyball, always had been. And yet … when Shouyou took him in his warm mouth and began to suck, it flashed through Atsumu’s head that this was the very definition of bliss and love—a perfect crescendo, where he sent the ball arcing towards a guy with the best jump in the world, who would fly with utmost faith that the toss would reach him.

Thighs trembling, Atsumu braced himself, hands furling around the bed sheets as Shouyou continued to tease, slowing the pace, speeding up, before slipping his hands under Atsumu’s arse, to grip with his fingers.

He couldn’t hold out any longer. An almost-pain built up inside him, a sensation born not just of desire but pent-up frustration conflicting with an intense desire to keep this going because this was raw and feral and it was so good to finally _feel._

_Jeez, this is actually happening!_

The beat from next door thrummed around him, but it was nothing to the blood roaring in his ears.

“I’m com—” he tried to warn, so Shouyou could move away, but instead he sucked harder and Atsumu was lost, caught up so perfectly in the moment that he jerked and came then collapsed back on the bed.

A cry rasped at his throat. “Fuck me.”

“What, again?” Shouyou joined him on the bed, lying by his side.

They linked fingers. “Definitely not the only time I wanna be doin’ this, Shouyou.” Then, hearing once more the bass thudding through the wall, he laughed. “And gotta be the best way to drown out his SHITTY MUSIC!”

“Maybe we won’t do this just before you’re about to serve, though,” Shouyou said, straight-faced.

“Gahd, that would make ‘em talk. But you’ve left me weak as a kitten, so I’d never get that ball over the net.” Twisting onto his side, he stared down at Shouyou, loving the light in his eyes and the way his face in repose still looked so animated. “D’you think I’m an asshole about my serve?”

“Yeah, totally! But … it’s still So Damn Cool,” he breathed.

He held in a pitiful sigh. “Apart from today’s.”

A soft punch on the arm. “Stop that. Or I’ll chuck you out wearing my horrible sweat pants and old man shirt.”

“How do you do that?” Atsumu asked.

“Do what?”

“Have this ability to make everythin’ better.”

“Ah…” His cheeks pinked. “Maybe it’s the people I’m with. They deserve it.”

“So smooth, Shouyou.”

“That’s me.” He wriggled closer, bringing his face in line with Atsumu’s. “Do you want to stay over?”

“Will Chatan-kun’s music ever stop?”

“He’ll ease up at eleven, but … uh … I can always think of another way to drown out the noise.”

“Oooh, yeah.” He smiled, knowing it was smug but not caring because right now he felt smug and warm but above all, wanted and safe.

***

The interviewer stopped Atsumu after their next game by dint of shoving the mic under his nose. “As you’re acting captain today, Atsumu, can we have a word for your _fans?_ “

“Sure. You can have more than one as there are so many out there!”

With pursed lips, the interviewer continued. “What do you think won the Jackals the game?”

“We scored more points,” Atsumu replied, with a wink. Then taking pity on the interviewer, he placed a hand on Shouyou’s shoulder, leaving it there for a touch, before pulling Bokuto into the camera frame, too. (Kiyoomi, with some kind of sixth sense, had sidestepped them all and slunk off to the changing room.) “I have great teammates. Did ya see this guy’s jump—I swear he has wings! And what about Bokkun’s serve? On fire right!”

The interviewer (clearly a Rockets fan) grimaced. “Your own serve in that first set was—”

He bit back the irritation, continuing to smile. “Erratic, yeah, I know. You gotta go all out though, that’s what I always say, but sometimes I take a while to warm up. And I came right in the final set.”

Bokuto beamed at him, throwing his arm across his shoulders. “Tsum-Tsum won us the game.”

“Nah, team sport,” Atsumu replied. “You guys got me there. And that’s all that matters.”

“So, Atsumu, what would you say drives you?”

His hand found Shouyou’s, clutching it tight, before he replied with one solitary, _truthful_ word.

“Love.”

“Of the game?” he was asked, somewhat sardonically. “Isn’t that a cliché?”

“Uh, well, ya know what they say,” Atsumu replied, fixing his most deadly grin on his face, the grin which made the opposition flinch. “Love makes the world go round, and—”

Bokuto grabbed him. “And volleyballs are round! WOO HOO!”

Eyeing Bokuto a little nervously, the interviewer coughed, but Atsumu burst into laughter. “He’s right, you know. They are round. Thanks for the interview.”

“One more question?”

“Naw, sorry guys,” he replied, and draped his arms over both Bokuto and Shouyou. “Gotta take the team out for a meal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you if you've found yourself here because you continued to read. This pairing have taken me over somewhat with the current arc, but I might return with something else soon.  
> Kudos, comments - all welcome.


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